


Command

by bexacaust



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M, megop - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 21:23:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5885695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bexacaust/pseuds/bexacaust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Do you need orders, Prime? Is that what you want?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Command

_Every time I’m near **you**_   
_I always wanna **swallow** you down_   
_I’ll be right here if ya’ **need** me_   
_In my life, I’ll need you **here** , don’t ask why_   
_I’ll **never** disappear _

Trading words, to insults, to punches, to a full scale brawl.

Optimus jerked back, battlemask in place and optics hot and narrow as he and Megatron snarled their sentences and swung balled up fists at each other to leave dents, scuffs, marks; the only affection they knew how to show each other anymore.

Optimus felt a blow glance off his helm, and took the opening; The sound of a blade unsheathing at his arm and-

And then his back slammed against the wall, his own weapon held to his throat and his other wrist pressed against the cold surface bracing the Prime.

Megatron smiled like a hungry serpent, leaning closer before speaking, “Tsk, tsk now Optimus; these are tactics I’d think to see in Kaon, not here in the presence of one blessed by Primus.”

Optimus growled behind the mask.

“Someone’s riled.”, chuckled Megatron, “Not used to being the one pinned, hm?”

Optimus forced himself to remain quiet; Megatron was standing far too close for him to safely move so he tamped down his own squirms for freedom, because that’s what they were.

Or at least, that’s what he told himself they were. He glanced to the door.

“The room is soundproofed, Optimus.”, murmured Megatron at his audial, “No one can hear you outside of here; be as loud as you need.”

The strangled whine in Optimus’s throat slipped out just enough to make Megatron’s grin return in full force as Optimus looked mortified. Optimus’s helm thudded back against the wall as Megatron’s thigh pressed between his own and he shuddered at the slide of plating against plating.

“Such a secret for an Autobot to carry, hm?”, purred Megatron, “Little trysts like this masked under interrogations; tell me, Optimus-”

A groan, and the snickt of a mask sliding away.

“Tell me, do you keep the recordings in a personal collection? Do you listen to my voice late at night?”

Optimus squirmed, ever mindful of his own blade being held at his throat.

“Is it the way I speak?”, purred Megatron, the smile audible in his tone, “Tell me, stroke my ego, hm?”

“You do that plenty don’t you thi-hinknnnn…”

Megatron’s thigh shifted, pressing up against Optimus’s panel and forcing the heated metal to flex.

“Y-Yes.”, was the gasped answer from a writhing Optimus.

“How _scandalous._ ”

Optimus shuddered at the way the syllables rolled off Megatron’s glossa, the “s” drawn out just enough to fray his sensornet’s seams as he moaned lasciviously.

He rocked against Megatron’s thigh, charge building too fast at the close quarters.

“Why don’t you sheathe your blade Optimus?”

The arm was pressed tighter against Optimus’s chestplate, the keen edge of the weapon against the Prime’s throat nicking an energon line just enough to sluggishly drip.

Silence.

“Is it the thrill? One wrong move, one false start and you are bleeding on the floor, howling for a medic.”

Another shudder, a raspy gasp. Fans whirring far too hard while plating heated far too quickly.

“M-Megatro-on please.”

The Warlord’s optics glimmered like dragonfire as he watched the Prime rapidly coming apart at the seams. He chuckled, nuzzling under an audial before continuing to speak.

“Tell me more, Optimus. Tell me, what little mementos of me do you carry not left by my teeth and servos and spike, hm?”

Optimus nearly sobbed as his charge racked up even higher at the words teasing his senses; flashes of memories of his own servos stroking over dents and scuffs and gouges. Of his thighs deliciously sore. Of nights in his berth replaying the files of Megatron barking orders to his troops, clips gathered by spies for “reconnaissance” and used for anything but the war effort.

Of “ _interrogation_ ” becoming synonymous with “ _affair_ ”.

“Is it how I command, Optimus?”

The Prime’s hips bucked as he groaned again, back arching as far as it could with the reminder of a blade at his throat cables.

“Do you need orders, Prime? Is that what you want?”, purred Megatron, pushing his thigh harder against Optimus’s panel as the soldier’s hips rocked faster.

“Y-Yes, yes please-”

“Very well.”

Optimus made a desperate and confused noise as Megatron’s voice faded from his audial; as he felt lipplates brush his own and he looked at Megatron with optics swirled blue and white.

“Here is an order, Prime.”, growled Megatron, “ _ **Overload.**_ ”

Another hard press to Optimus’s panel, and a harsh kiss made more of fang and fury than gentleness and Optimus felt his circuits snap like they had been lit aflame.

The kiss sealed away his howl of Megatron’s name as his body rocked and arched, as his own thighs clamped tight around Megatron’s and he trembled like an active faultline. Megatron released his wrists, the blade sheathing itself once again as war-calloused servos scrambled for a hold on dark plating.

Megatron pulled his mouth away from Optimus’s once the Prime’s motions had stilled enough for Optimus to heavily vent steam in a pale cloud.

Megatron’s smile was hungry and Optimus swallowed hard.

“We are not yet finished, Optimus.”

The Prime groaned eagerly.


End file.
